Destruction Road

Chapter 7

Tom found himself walking through a strange town. His long sleeve dress shirt and khaki pants were overkill for this place. He began to sweat immediately. Everyone around him was dressed in strange clothing. Some were just wrapped in cloth.

Suddenly he knew that he had to give a message to the people in this town. Then he saw it, the face of his family's murderer. He too was dressed in modern clothing and stood out among the rest of the people. When he saw Tom, recognition flashed across his face and he looked down in shame.

Tom awoke suddenly, knowing that he had to tell the boy that God would forgive him. Tom couldn't do it though, at least not in person. He knew that if he went back to that jail he would get in trouble with the law himself for trying to throttle the boy and acting crazy.

Why does God have to use me to give that murderer this message? Isn't there a Chaplain in the jail or something?

But Tom knew somehow that this kid wouldn't hear it from anyone else. Only he held a place in the kid's life that would shake him up enough to listen. If Tom wrote him a letter, the kid would read it. Tom got up and went to the other side of the house where his parents were watching TV.

"Hey Mom, where would I find a piece of paper?"

"Second drawer under the phone hon, and there's pens near the phone too."

"Okay, thanks mom," Tom said, and he started to go.

"What do you need it for?"

"I'm writing someone a letter," he said, walking back to the kitchen. Tools in hand he strode to the living room and landed on the couch. He stared at the blank page. It stared back at him. He uncapped the pen, and started to write.

I don't really know how you're going to respond to this. I don't know how to respond to you. To be honest, if it were up to me, you would die by my hands. I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to forgive you. That said, I serve a God greater than me. I do know that he will forgive you if you ask him to. As much as it pains me to write this to you, God is telling me to. No matter how I feel about this, I will obey my God, and he has told me to tell you that he will forgive you. I'm sending you a Bible. Read the book of Jonah. I'm Jonah, you're a Ninevite.

That was it. Tom signed his name and stuffed it in the envelope. He sealed and stamped it; done. As far as he was concerned, once he put it in the mail he had sent his message, obeying God.

Will read the letter. He almost crumpled it up after reading the first part, but he was too curious and remorseful not to finish it. He didn't really think much about what it said, until he had read it again, and again, and again. He thought it was stupid, that garbage about God and the Bible. He did think it was weird that the guy had written him to tell him that God would forgive him, even if he couldn't. That was pretty weird. Will didn't blame Tom for hating him, or even wanting to kill him. He got that. What he didn't get was the stuff about forgiveness.

Will wasn't even sure if there was a God, but he knew if there was one that there would be no way he would forgive Will for what he'd done. After a few days he was just too bored to not crack open the Bible Tom had sent him and read the book of Jonah. He looked at the long columned table of contents and found Jonah. The story was quite surprising to Will. He never would have guessed that the hero of a Bible story could be such a loser. He had to admit, the story had some pretty strong resemblance to he and Tom. Tom wanted Will dead. Tom didn't want to tell Will that if he turned away from his sin and repented that God would forgive him.

After that Will read many more stories out of that Bible. He was surprised again and again that the Bible was full of stories about people who were messed up like him, and did some horrible things, but God still loved and forgave them.

One of Adam and Eve's kids murdered the other one out of jealousy. Noah got drunk after the whole ark thing. Moses murdered a man. King David had a woman's husband murdered so he could steal her after happening to see her bathing nude. He supposed Tom was right. If God forgave all these people, why not him? So for the first time he prayed.

It was a simple prayer, asking God to forgive him. It wasn't the last time he prayed either. He started to read his Bible daily, hungry for a knowledge of this supposed God. Eventually he came to a place where he could forgive his Dad. He tried calling him, but he couldn't do it; so he wrote him a letter. He wasn't expecting to hear back, but his old man had taken the time to write him back. It was scrawled out, written in a rushed hand permanently damaged from too much lifting of the bottle. It read:

Hey son,

Thanks for writing me. You don't know what it meant to me to read the words you wrote to me. The fact that you forgive me makes me relieved and guilty all at the same time. Didn't think you ever would, but I'm so glad you did. I'm ashamed of what I'd become. What I've done to you, my only boy. I want you to know that once you were put in jail I stopped drinking. I figured it was kinda my fault you were in there once all my anger wore off. Guess that was what it took to sober me up. I'm sorry. I hope you're doing okay in there. I've tried to call and write, but I just couldn't do it. Hung up or couldn't dial. Wrote some letters but couldn't send them. I guess I was just too afraid you'd never write or talk back, and I just couldn't handle that. It would mean that I was dead to you. I know I've been a terrible Father, but I love you son. I'd like to come see you if that's ok. Maybe we can start over, make things right again between us like it was before Mom died. I love you, and I'm sorry.

Dad

Before long the old man started paying visits to his son. It became a weekly ritual, and it was the best part of Will's week. He never heard from Tom again, but still kept sending him letters, from time to time, letting him know how things had improved in his life thanks to the letter Tom sent him. Life went on like that for the three men. God's love met them in their loneliness and gave them a life worth living. Not the life they would have chosen, but a life they chose to be thankful for every day.